


Secret Diary Fix-It

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, multichapt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at what might have happened had David Tennant been a guest star on Secret Diary of a Call Girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous prompt: i read somewhere that david tennant was going to be a client on secret diary but their schedules didnt line up. possible prompt????
> 
> "There was a plan to do that in the first year. The dates didn’t work out so I couldn’t do it but it involved some reins I believe. I was happy to be trussed up in any way that Billie saw fit!" - David Tennant, Absolute Radio

As Billie strides toward him in her dressing gown, the thin, slinky fabric hugging her every curve, David suddenly realizes what an epic fucking huge mistake this is.

What were once just words —  _oh, sure Bill, I’d love to play a John in your new show_  — are now an all-too-daunting reality. Why did he ever think it would be a good idea to film a sex scene with one of his best mates — one of his best mates who always pushed the boundaries of flirtation, boundaries he was all too willing to retreat.

Her smile falters just a touch as she walks toward him, a slight downturn at the corner, and he wonders if she isn’t having similar regrets. He squares his shoulders and clears his throat, suddenly itchy in his own robe, and matches her smile with his own.  

They can soldier through this — they’ve done kissing scenes before and that’s all this is,  _really_ , technically, just a kissing scene with fewer clothes and throatier sounds.

He’s seen bits of the first few episodes of Secret Diary, uncut clips, and,  _christ_ , he knew she was sexy — he’s long accepted it as an inherent part of her personality — but the footage was almost excruciating to watch, to see that glossy look in her eye, to hear her gasping,  _moaning_. If she sounded that exquisite, making needy sounds for the camera, he couldn’t help but wonder how delicious her noises must be if spontaneous, sincere.  

He swallows, readying his defenses for later, for when she’s gasping against his mouth. Now Billie’s hugging him and he’s yanking himself from his thoughts, hands gliding over the silky fabric of her dressing gown until he makes himself stop. After a minute she pulls back from the embrace, only slightly, gripping the lapels of his cotton robe with her hands and looking up at him, familiar smirk spread across her lips. 

"You ready for some bonking, Teninch?" she asks, eyes beaming, and he’s glad she’s setting such a lighthearted tone. He thinks it will be alright, if they can laugh their way through though this this, chasing away any awkwardness.  

His mind jumps back to the last scene they filmed together, clutching her to his chest in an orange spacesuit, lifting her off the ground, her legs swaying as she buried her face in his neck. How they fought back tears after the last take, eventually surrendering, biting back sobs and hugging in earnest in front of the crew and cameras. 

It’s good just to be working together again, he tells himself, a throw-away line he would normally feed to a reporter, but one that he now clings too.  

"Oh, I’m ready Piper," he says, returning her smirk, hands reflexively squeezing her hips. "The question is, are you?" 

"I’m an old pro at this by now," she says, tugging the robe away from his chest and peering inside. "I’m just looking forward to seeing what you’ve got." 

David makes a show of pulling the fabric from her clutches, holding it closed modestly under his chin, and she’s laughing at him, that bright, bubbly laugh, and he tries to focus on the sound instead of the fact that before too long he’ll be seeing everything  _she’s_  got. 

Her bra will stay on for the first scene they’re shooting today and he’s thankful for that, wondering if it’s a deliberate decision on the production team’s part, if they are used to easing the actors into their day of rolling around in bed with Billie Piper. He suppresses an odd feeling of jealousy, of other men exchanging dialogue with her for the cameras, when it used to be just her and him, before she left. 

David’s shed his robe and is sitting on the bed in his pants, crew members checking the lighting, finessing his hair, and he’s finally relaxing; it’s exactly like filming any other love scene, completely unsexy with the dozens of crew members standing about, boom mike hovering above the bed. 

He’s starting to think that maybe, possibly, he can simply enjoy kissing her, like he did that time last season when she ran her fingers through his hair. Perhaps he can even save the memories of her moans for later on, taking them in without the fear of embarrassing himself on set.  

Those plans go out the window, however, when the makeup team is finally done with her and she’s climbing onto the bed, in lacy black knickers and a sad excuse for a bra, hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric. He doesn’t stop his gaze from falling over the angle of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, the dimples of her hips, the soft skin where the knickers meet her thigh.  

She looks at him shyly and he can’t help but laugh because  _that_ , now that is acting, she’s never been shy a day in her life. Her gaze turns sultry as his laugh calls her bluff and he rolls his eyes, because of course she knows what she does to him, what she’s always done, even when she doesn’t have half her kit off.  

"Cold, Bills?" he asks, glancing downward, needing to throw her off her mark. It’s not fair that he’s the only one feeling like this.  

"They keep the temperature down for this exact purpose," she says, not missing a beat. "Though I suppose it won’t help you live up to your nickname," she drawls, glancing at his crotch.  

He can only shake his head as any comebacks dissipate from his brain because she’s straddling his legs, gently sitting just above his knees as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He tries and fails not to think about the parts of her that are only a strip of fabric away from his skin.  

"Would you ever in a million years guess that we’d film a scene like this?" she asks, corner of her lips pulling upward.  

"Never. But then again I didn’t think you’d leave a quality family program to play a salacious night worker," he replies, purposefully mirroring the words he had too often seen in the papers. She rolls her eyes. "I hope you don’t let those bastards get to you." 

"Course not," she says, like it’s ridiculous, and he guesses it is for someone who’s been in the public eye for as long as she has. It’s so easy to forget with her; she’s still exudes a hint of innocence, of normalcy.  

"Have you missed me on set?" she asks, tilting her head, and he can’t help but reach out to grab a ringlet of her hair. She angles her head further, brushing her cheek against his fingertips.  

"Yes," he says simply, eyes serious, and they pass a couple quiet seconds wrapped in that word before the director comes over to hash out the mechanics of the upcoming scene.  

David tries to get caught up in the technicalities, thinking ahead to matching up his movements with his lines, but Billie’s rising onto her knees, scooting forward and nestling herself down on his lap, waiting for the cameras to roll. She places her hands on his shoulders, eyebrow arching as she smiles. 

"Ready?" 

He gulps.  


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a moment suspended in time, those few seconds between the director yelling “action” and Billie’s lips meeting his. The cocktail of anticipation and dread remind him of childhood summers — those brief airborne seconds spent after jumping off the dock and before landing in the chilly water of the lake. You know it will ultimately be refreshing, a relief from the humid summer’s day, but only after you get over the initial shock of the cold.

The touch of her lips against his steadies him, is familiar; David knows the shape of them, their temperature, their expanse. It’s when her tongue pushes past his lips that he hits the water; it’s new, jarring, and completely fucking intoxicating. She tastes like bubblegum.

Wait, not just any bubblegum, no,  _think_. He’s trying to distract himself from the feel of her tongue sliding against his, hot and wet and teasing; from her first breathy gasp into his mouth. That’s it,  _that’s it_ , it’s the gum he always has on set, the one she would bum off him, knicking sticks out of his pockets, after lunch or when she was trying not to smoke.

He’s wondering if it’s a coincidence, if she merely likes the flavor, or if the choice is purposeful, like she wanted him to taste it on her and remember.  _Remember_ , right, there’s lines to say, and body parts to maneuver, and was his character supposed to grab her arse then or was that just him?

 

The director says “cut!” and David lets out a sigh of relief, finally acclimating to the temperature of the placid waters. That wasn’t so bad, just a few gasps and no moans, although her breasts did graze his chest and he had to turn a spontaneous hum of appreciation into a meaningful sound for the camera. But that’s the great thing about filming scenes like this — only you know where the acting ends and your true responses begin.

"Mmm, well done you," she says, scrunching her nose and smiling at him in a way that makes him wonder why it was okay for him to kiss her a few seconds ago but it would be completely out of bounds to do so now. "You’ve done this before, haven’t you?"

"Oh, once or twice," he says, beaming at her, realizing his hands are still on her hips. He keeps them there — what do conventional boundaries matter when your best mate is sitting on your lap in bed, both half-dressed and surrounded by a film crew. She doesn’t seem to mind, anyway, and she lets her hands fall from his shoulders to his waist, resting there lazily.

They film the scene a handful more times without incident and Billie stays on his lap between takes, to David’s delight, although he can’t stop the niggling jealousy again, hoping she doesn’t do the same with the many other men who’ve made guest spots on this show.

There’s a quick wardrobe change — a new set of underwear and clothes for his character’s second booking — and David taps his foot restlessly waiting for the scene to be set. He’s been anticipating this bit more than any others because they actually get to  _undress_ each other, an act that crops up more than any other in his many fantasies.

Billie appears back on set in an impossibly tight dress with a long zipper down the back and he thanks his fucking lucky stars that this completely mad job of his allows him to act out his most buried desires. She catches his stare — he’s not even trying to hide it anymore — and does a half twirl for him, peeking back coyly over her shoulder.

He motions her toward him and she glides over, stilettos clicking on the tiled floor. David’s hands grip her waist, turning her hips left then right, scrutinizing the dress with a furrowed brow.

"Now, how does this come off, Piper? Asking purely for professional reasons, of course." He’s the one testing the boundaries now, he knows it, but his mind is clouded with thoughts of the upcoming scene, by the curve of her bum in that dress.

"Well this," she says, speaking in slow, deliberate words, turning and pointing to her back. "Is called a zipper. And do you see that little bit at the top? Yeah? When you pull on that, the zipper comes undone, and I think you’ll be able to figure the rest out from there."

David brushes her hair over her shoulder and runs his index finger down the seam of the zipper, from her neck to the small of her back.

"Okay, yeah, I think I’ve got it."

She’s looking at him, biting her bottom lip, hint of a question in her eyes and he reminds himself to dial it back, save it for the cameras and all that.

"Not everyone undresses people for a living, now, Bill," he says quickly, rushing to cover his indiscretion with words. "I just wanted to be sure I don’t embarrass you in front of all your new coworkers."

"Oh please, you could never embarrass me," she says, tugging on his tie because they’re finally ready for them on set. "Just don’t get a partial erection like the last bloke."

David laughs a little too loudly.

***

He chuckles against her mouth as he pulls the zipper of her dress down, partly out of nerves and partly because he wants to tell her he figured it out, the whole zipper thing, that he didn’t need any help after all. He’s worried the laugh is out of place in the scene but the director doesn’t stop them, so he keeps going, walking her back until her calves bump the couch, stepping aside so she can slide the dress off her shoulders and it pools at her feet.

She’s in a different pair of black knickers and a matching bra, but this time she’s also wearing sheer knee-high black stockings that are attached to her pants with little clips and he’s not sure — were they doing this David and Billie rather than Belle and client — if he would rather peel them off with his teeth or fuck her with them on.

Shit, no, it’s thoughts like those that he should  _not_ be having right now, especially when she’s tugging on his tie the way he wished she had when she was Rose.

His mind doesn’t have time to linger for long, though, because the crew is constantly adjusting the lighting and the cameras for this scene, creating vast stretches of downtime. It’s a sight to see Billie Piper sitting on a folding chair in stockings and lacy knickers, picking at a salad.

"I used to put a dressing gown on between takes, but now I can’t be arsed," she says when she glimpses him smiling.

"No complaints here," he says, putting his hands up. She launches a crouton at him, hitting him square on the nose.

Finally, it’s time for the last scene of the day, and David’s back in boxers and sitting on the foot of the bed, Billie next to him.

"Do you want to look first?" she asks, arms twisting to reach for the clasp of her bra.

"What?" he replies, not sure why he’s sounding so shocked and squeaky.

"My tits are out in this scene, do you want to just look now so you’re not distracted in the first take?" she says, genuinely trying to be helpful. "Don’t want you to be blinded by their beauty and forget your lines."

"What lines?" he laughs. "The ratio of words to moans in this show of yours is completely ridiculous, you know that right?"

"So you don’t want to see them first, then?"

"I think I can wait. I’ll try not to be shocked when I see them in all their glory."

"You’ve probably seen them before haven’t you?" she asks, tongue at the corner of her smile.

"What! No I haven’t!" he says, racking his mind to make sure his words were true. He’d seen her nipples poking through her shirt dozens of times, she was always cold that one, but surely he’d remember seeing her exposed breasts.

"You seemed to linger in my trailer on set  _quite a lot_ , refusing to leave when I was changing on a few occasions,” she continues, shaking her head at him. “Maybe your eyes weren’t shut as tightly as you claimed.”

"I’ll have you know I’m quite the gentleman, Piper," he said, and it was true, he had never peaked… well maybe once, but her back was to him, so he closed his eyes again before actually seeing anything.

She rolls her eyes. “Alright then, but remember I gave you the choice.”

"Always so considerate," he says, arching a brow.

***

In his thirty-some-odd years on this earth David has learned a few surefire ways to keep an erection at bay, picturing certain elderly naked relatives and rattling off the first eight Doctors’ catchphrases in his head, but he is sure he hasn’t had to work this hard at not getting, well,  _hard_ in a long time.

He barely lets himself glance at her breasts when she removes her bra that first time, but from what he does see they’re pert and shapely with pinkish nipples that he wants to suck on, feeling them grow harder in his mouth. He tries to suppress these thoughts as he’s pushing her down the bed, tongue moving against hers and he notices she must have chewed that bubblegum again when he wasn’t looking.

Pressing his body along hers, trying not to focus of the feel of her bare breasts against his chest, he kisses down her neck and she moans, the sound vibrating against his lips, and he’s conjuring up naked images of every octogenarian he’s ever met.

David can’t help but marvel at how good she is at this, playing a sex kitten suits her; he could almost believe her affections were truly for him if it weren’t for the cameras and dozen or so peering eyes. And while every movement is orchestrated, planned out in advance by the writers and director, if just feels  _real_ , organic, genuine. He has to remind himself that it is not, this is just their job, and today his job happens to overlap with some deep-seated desires.

It’s on the last take of the day, both of their lips swollen from hours of kissing, when something happens that plants a seed of hope in David’s mind.

Toward the end of the scene, the stage directions call for him to wrap her leg around his hip, but this time his hand catches on the sheets, causing his fingers to brush against her knickers as they travel to her knee. He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes meeting hers. She looks away quickly, focusing on a spot on the ceiling as she presses her head back against the pillow, continuing with the scene.

His fingers are still damp as he pulls her leg around his back.


	3. Chapter 3

The director announces it’s a wrap for the day and the studio is abuzz with crew members packing up equipment and discussing their plans for the evening. David, however, hears none of it, his attention honed on Billie several yards away, tying her dressing gown with a furrowed brow.

He looks down at his fingers, wondering if he was imagining things, if perhaps his brain got his senses muddled. But then there was that look on her face when he felt it, even more telling than the dampness of her knickers.

Still, her look could have been one of embarrassment, he supposes, that she was turned on by what they were doing in general, indifferent to the fact that it was him. Though she’d been doing this for weeks now, months even, surely she can’t get wet every time she films a sex scene.

 

David’s starting to put on his robe when she looks up, catching his stare, and now there is no mistaking the hunger in her expression. She shrugs, almost imperceptibly, and holds his gaze, eyes wide and dark.

It’s that look that does him in. After a day of holding back, of pretending to be unaffected by her, of believing his feelings were one-sided, that tiny shrug of admission hits him harder than her breathiest moan against his skin. Suddenly he’s striding toward the door, muttering “come on” as he passes her, not even venturing a glance her way.

He’s five steps down the hallway when he hears her heels echoing behind him. He doesn’t slow down or even turn around, feeling like fucking Orpheus to her Eurydice, knowing if he glances back one or both of them will lose their nerve.

There are countless reasons not to go through with this, that much he remembers, but the closer they get to his dressing room the further those reasons are pushed to the corner of his mind. He has wanted her since they day he met her, and for the first time in their friendship he knows she wants him, too.

His dressing room door is in sight and he hears her pace speed up, the  _click click click_ of her heels reverberating through the empty hallway. He lengthens his stride, too, reaching the door in four paces and barreling inside, standing aside to allow her to pass through before slamming it shut, pinning her body against the frame.

They’re both panting, a combined result of their quick pace and anticipation, but now that he has her alone, hip to hip, he doesn’t know where to start. She’s just staring up at him with those fucking doe eyes, lips still swollen from his, chest heaving beneath the thin fabric of her dressing gown, peaked nipples dimpling the fabric and, yes, he has his starting point.

He steps back slightly to make room for his hand as he tugs at the tie of her robe, slowly pulling the knot free and letting the string fall. Billie takes in a sharp breath as he parts the silky fabric until her breasts are exposed to him once more, rosy and smooth.

She reaches for his waist and pushes her hips against his as his fingers trace her collar bone, skimming lower until both hands are cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. He exhales and realizes he’s been holding his breath, so caught in the sensations of touching her as  _himself_ , not some character, and feeling her reciprocate.

He had started getting hard on the walk to his dressing room, heart pumping blood downward just from listening to the steady click of her stilettos, and now her hips pressing against his are well on their way to finishing the job.

Mind reeling, he wonders if this is actually happening, if he didn’t have a mental breakdown at some point in the day and that this is a fantasy of his psychosis. Then she rotates her hips against his and he doesn’t give a shit if he’s in a padded room right now, because that moment isn’t worth trading for reality.

"Dave," she breathes, half whisper, half whimper, hands moving from his waist to untie his robe. She works it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and he’s pressing her against the door again, face hovering above hers.

"Dave," she says again, a soft plea, and his hand is clutching at her hair, pad of his thumb brushing her cheek. Simply hearing her utter his name like that is enough to get him the rest of the way hard and he’s leaning into her, making sure she can feel him against her stomach.

"Bill,  _fuck_ " he says roughly, hand trailing down her back to grip her arse, then lifting her thigh to wrap her leg around his hip like he had in the last scene, except this time they’re vertical, except this time it’s real. He moves so that his cock pushes against her knickers and she whimpers again, the sound only silenced by his lips.

The kiss is soft, could almost be considered innocent if his erection wasn’t over her clit, and even though they’ve been snogging all day it suddenly feels extremely intimate. She’s his best mate, his wet dream, and, in this moment, the whole of his existence.

Slowly they begin to move their lips, perfectly in sync, and then she snakes her tongue into his mouth, gasping as it meets his. Kissing her like this is nothing like before, in front of the cameras and crew, that was a farce in comparison to now, her wet, hot tongue moving against his, her mouth still sweet from the gum she’d been chewing.

Her tongue glides along the roof of his mouth and his hips grind against hers, eliciting a soft noise from the back of her throat, and he’s pulling away, lungs straining for air, and he’s staring down at her again, mind struggling to find the words.

"I’ve missed you," he whispers, forehead resting against hers.

Her hands slide upwards from their spot on his waist, trailing up his back, his neck, and tangling in his hair. She peppers his lips, his cheek, his jaw with kisses, mouth moving down to his throat and sucking, lightly first then harder.

"Talk to me," he says, because he can’t stand it, because he’s never spent this much time with her without hearing her voice, and now she’s saying so much while saying nothing at all.

"I’ve missed you, too," she breaths against his throat, licking the hollow beneath his adams apple. Her hands trail down his chest, raking through the light hair there and brushing over his nipples, mouth following suit.

"I’ve wanted you," she continues, husky voice vibrating through his sternum. "I’ve wanted this."

"Since when?" he says, because he needs to distract himself from the feel of her hands at the waistband of his pants.

She drops her leg from around his waist and winks at him,  _fucking winks_ , before dropping her head to lick a line down his abdomen, following light trail of hair beneath his navel. She lowers herself onto her haunches as she goes, pulling his boxers down with her, until she’s kneeling in front of him and his pants hit the floor.

"Mmm, Teninch, I wasn’t far off, was I?" she says, giggling as his cock jumps at the feel of her breath on him. Her mouth latches onto his hip as her hand begins to stroke him, soft and slow and teasing, until he’s thrusting against her palm, her teeth digging into the skin over his hipbone.

She gazes up at him to make sure he’s looking, and of course he is, as if he could tear himself away even if he wanted. Playful gleam in her eyes, she finally lowers mouth onto him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock before sinking down along his length. David steadies himself with a hand against the door.

He’s silently reciting his third Shakespeare sonnet when her hand tightens around his base and he can’t help but twine his free hand in her hair. She hums her approval, the vibration hitting him at his core, and he clenches his hand around her locks as her mouth lowers around him, one, two, three more times before he has to pull her up.

Stepping out of his pants he walks her backward, hands roaming her body, until they reach the vanity against the wall. She hops onto the counter and spreads her legs, pulling him in close. One hand returns to her hair while the other slides down her body, between her breasts, over her stomach, until they reach her lacy black knickers.

He runs his fingers along the silky fabric between her legs and swallows at the feel of it, sticky and clinging to her skin. She closes her eyes as his fingers stroke her through her pants, until he says, “Look at me,” and she obeys, eyes locked on his as her mouth falls open.

"You been wet all day, Bill?" he asks, pressing his cock into her thigh. She nods and bites her bottom lip, eyes dark and round as saucers. He swears at this admission, wishing he had known all along, although it’s probably for the best because he’d have fucked her then and there, in front of the sound guy and all.

His mouth descends to her nipple as he begins the delicate work of unfastening the clips connecting her knickers to her knee-highs, deciding to definitely keep the stockings on. Stilettos too. Her hands pull at his hair as his tongue swirls around her nipple, sucking then biting, before moving to its twin.

He slides the pants off her and kneels in front of her, pulling her hips to the edge of the vanity. Starting at her ankle, he licks up the length of her leg, feeling the texture of the nylon under his tongue, until he reaches soft skin. His mouth slows its pace, kissing and nibbling along the way, and her hands tighten in his hair in anticipation.

When his tongue finally licks her there, long and slow, she lets out a quiet moan and he’s right, it sounds infintely better than the ones she puts on for the cameras and his cock twitches. Yearning to draw more sounds from her, his tongue teases her entrance before moving to cover her clit, smiling against her as her thighs come to rest on his shoulders.

His tongue picks up speed and he slides one finger into her, then two, and she’s clenching around him and suddenly moaning in earnest, the sound filling the room and he knows he’ll never forget its exact tone. When she quiets he stares up at her, flushed and panting, marveling at the speed at which she came. He stands and crashes his lips into hers, still messy and wet, chasing the delicious sound that spilled from her lips seconds ago.

"Shit, you’re good at that," she says into his lips when they break for air, and he positions himself against her, using his last remaining shred of will power to pause and lean his head back, looking her in the eye.

He wants to say something again, to properly mark the occasion he’s been longing after for so long, but he knows he can’t say the words he feels and neither can she, for those words, more than anything, belong to other people. So he stands there, head of his cock pressing into her wet heat, hoping she can read the look in his eye.

He thinks he notices the shade of her irises lighten as she whispers, “fuck me,” and he’s pushing inside of her like she said something else. One hand gripping her hip, the other her hair, he pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, groaning because he’s fully and completely inside her.

His brain works through a short equation before he begins to move in slow, strong strokes, biting her shoulder as he loses himself in her tight, warm, wetness. She’s making those sounds at the back of her throat again, soft breaths and whimpers, and he thrusts harder to increase their volume, feeling her heels dig into his thighs.

For some reason his mind returns to that jealous place it’s been lingering all day and he thinks about the other man who gets to do this to her, who can tell her how he feels with words instead of looks, who can kiss her whenever he feels like it. He leans over her so she’s lying flat on the vanity, her head bumping the mirror, and  _fuck_ he’s even deeper than before.

Lifting a knee onto the counter, he shifts the angle of his cock inside her and she gasps, soft sounds turning to moans, and he can feel her nails digging red crescents into his shoulders. His mouth covers hers, swallowing her sighs, saving them inside himself.

Overcome with the need to leave marks on her, to create lasting proof that this was real, he bites her lip roughly, sucking in apology, before moving to deliver the same treatment on her neck. He’s wondering if it’s too much when he feels her drag her nails down his back until they reach his hips, dig her stilettos further into the sides of his thighs.

Now he’s truly slamming into her, thrusts uneven and needy, and she’s clenching around him and,  _fuck_ , moaning beneath his mouth, spewing a delicious string of obscenities and  _guh_ , he’s coming too, breathing three short grunts beside her ear.

He lets himself grow soft inside her as their breathing evens out, not ready for this to be over just yet. She rubs his back, soothing the harsh marks she made moments ago.

When he can finally lift his head to look at her she’s wearing a sad smile, mouth pulling upward in the corner. He kisses her there, because that’s where he loves her, that part of her that is so quick to offer a small kindness.

It’s the moment he thinks about most later, when someone else is sleeping next to him, studying her expression in his head, wondering if it was an apology or something more.

Finally disentangling himself from her, he helps her off the vanity and she runs her fingers along the scratches she made on his hip. She bends to kiss the reddening skin and he closes his eyes, hoping it leaves a scar.


End file.
